Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 147

Fergus's POV - Evening

The black moon rose over Howling Citadel, casting the world into deeper darkness. No moonlight to guide the way, no silver glow to soften the shadows. Just darkness, absolute and complete.

The perfect night for murder.

I stood in the courtyard as the crowd gathered, my heart heavy with grief and rage. Hundreds of Lycans had come to witness the execution—some eager to see the mad King finally put down, others weeping quietly for the loss of our once-great ruler.

The humans had all been evacuated hours ago.

My most trusted warriors stood nearby, their hands on their weapons, waiting for my signal.

I had more men waiting outside the castle.

Even though, they were few when compared with Sabastian.

It wouldn't be enough. I knew that. Even if we fought, even if we managed to kill Sebastian and some of his supporters, we would ultimately be overwhelmed. There were too many who wanted Mordred dead, too many who saw this as the only solution.

But I would try anyway. Would make one last stand for my King, even if it cost me everything.

We moved through the citadel toward the King's den, the crowd following like a dark tide. Sebastian walked at the front, his expression composed but his eyes gleaming with barely concealed triumph.

I wanted to tear his throat out right then and there. Wanted to shift into my beast form and rip him apart for his treachery, for his ambition, for daring to plot against our King.

But I held back. Waited. If I moved too soon, my men and I would be cut down before we could do any real damage.

When we reached the den, Sebastian raised his hand for silence.

"Tonight, we end the suffering of our King," he announced, his voice carrying across the assembled crowd. "Tonight, we free Mordred from the beast that has consumed him. And tomorrow, we begin building a new future for our people."

Lies. All lies. This wasn't about mercy or ending suffering. This was about Sebastian's ambition, his hunger for power.

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, though I also heard quiet sobs from those who still mourned what Mordred had been.

Sebastian turned to his executioners and began reviewing the plan one final time.

"The dart-blowers will go first," he said, gesturing to a group of Lycans holding long tubes. "Tranquilizer darts, enough to put down an elephant. Turn the beast into a pincushion. Make sure he's completely unconscious before we proceed."

The dart-blowers nodded, their expressions grim but determined.

"Once he's down, the chain-bearers will move in." Sebastian indicated four massive Lycans holding heavy iron chains. "Bind his limbs. Make sure he's completely secured before we bring him out of the den."

"And then?" one of the chain-bearers asked.

"Then we drag him out here, into the courtyard, where everyone can see." Sebastian's smile was cold. "The execution will be public and undeniable."

He turned to the final group—three Lycans holding ornate daggers, their blades gleaming with a sickly green sheen.

"The executioners will deliver the final blow," Sebastian continued. "Wolfsbane-coated blades, straight to the heart. And then it will be done."

My hand moved to the sword at my hip, my muscles tensing. The moment those executioners raised their blades, I would signal my men. We would loose our arrows, kill the executioners, and I would go for Sebastian's throat.

It wouldn't save Mordred. But at least he would die knowing someone had tried to protect him.

"Begin," Sebastian ordered.

The dart-blowers moved forward, raising their tubes to their lips. The darts flew, striking the massive beast form that lay in the shadows of the den. One after another, the projectiles found their mark, embedding themselves in thick fur and muscle.

The beast didn't even flinch. Didn't move. The tranquilizers were already taking effect, or perhaps he'd been sleeping. Either way, he remained motionless as the darts continued to rain down on him.

"Enough," Sebastian said after a dozen darts had found their target. "Chain-bearers, move in."

The four massive Lycans approached cautiously, their chains ready. They wrapped the heavy iron around the beast's limbs—one chain for each leg—and pulled tight, securing him.

"Bring him out," Sebastian ordered.

The chain-bearers began to drag the unconscious beast from the den, his massive form sliding across the stone floor. The crowd parted to make room as they pulled him into the center of the courtyard, into the open where everyone could see.

Mordred lay there, motionless, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths. The tranquilizer darts protruded from his body like grotesque quills, and the chains bound his limbs tight.

The executioners moved forward, their poisoned daggers raised.

My hand tightened on my sword. This was it. The moment.

I opened my mouth to give the signal—

And then Mordred moved.

It was subtle at first. Just a twitch of his fingers, a slight shift of his massive head. But everyone saw it. Everyone froze.

The chain-bearers exchanged nervous glances, their grips tightening on the chains.

Then Mordred moved again, more deliberately this time. His body shuddered, his limbs tensing against the chains.

One of the executioners dropped his dagger, the blade clattering against the stone. His face had gone pale, his eyes wide with shock.

"What's happening?" someone in the crowd whispered.

I stared, my heart pounding, unable to believe what I was seeing.

The beast was changing.

Before everyone's eyes, the transformation began. Claws retracted, reshaping into fingers and hands. Thick fur receded, revealing smooth skin beneath. The massive, bestial head shifted, bones cracking and reforming, the muzzle shortening, the features becoming more human.

The wild mane of fur smoothed into long, dark hair that fell across broad shoulders.

The transformation was gradual but undeniable. And when it was complete, when the last of the beast form had melted away, what remained was not a monster.

It was a man.

Mordred sat up slowly, the tranquilizer darts falling away from his now-human body. His eyes—no longer glowing red but a deep, intelligent amber—surveyed the chains binding his wrists and ankles with something that might have been amusement.

With a casual flex of his powerful muscles, the chains shattered like brittle twigs, the iron links exploding outward in a shower of metal fragments.

The crowd erupted in gasps, whispers, and cries of shock.

"The King..." someone breathed. "The King has returned?"

I felt tears sting my eyes. My King. My brother in all but blood. He was back!